It was only October and the year was already going rather badly for Harry. Besides losing a lot of points for Gryffindor he had also managed to earn himself several detentions. His detentions were a result of not paying attention in class and not doing his homework. Harry tried to concentrate in class but it was very difficult due to his exhaustion. Since Voldemort’s return Harry had been plagued by nightmares, but they had gotten worse since the summer. Often he was not able to sleep at all. When he closed his eyes he would relive the fire that had destroyed the last bit of family he had. Even thought he had never heard it in real life, his dreams were plagued by his relative’s final screams.

Harry only slept whenhe was so tired that he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. These exhausted spells were the only time he got any relief from his nightmares. Once Harry had fallen asleep during class, McGonagall had been so angry that she had assigned him a week of detention with Filch.

There was only one person who seemed to understand what Harry was going through and that was Professor Lowens, the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. Most professors weren't interested in anything but their student’s grades and good behavior. That sentiment did hold true with Professor Lowens. She treated every student with the same level of respect, even those who were terrible at Defense. Every time Harry got a test or an assignment back, something nice had been written on it, even if he hadn't scored well. Because of her effective manner of teaching and her unusual kindness to all her students, she was well loved.

Sometimes Harry wondered if he should go and talk to her, but what would he say? More than once he had imagined the conversation in his head and it always ended with Professor Lowens being very disappointed with him. Everybody expected so much of him, and Harry was slowly falling to pieces beneath the weight of it.

Harry sighed and leaned against the sink of the girl’s bathroom. If he focused on the little snake on the faucet he could open the Chamber of Secrets. He could hide their and no one would ever be able to find him. But Harry was sure it would be horrible down there with the rotting corpse of the basilisk. Harry frequently sought refuge in this particular bathroom because no one ever came here, not even the professors. Moaning Myrtle wasn't as annoying as most people thought. Harry chatted often with her but she would always leave him alone if he asked nicely. Today, however she was nowhere to be seen.

Harry rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and pointed his wand at it. "Finite Incantatem," muttered Harry. Seven poorly healed scars appeared on the inside of his forearm. Harry took the time to examine each of them carefully, his finger tracing along their length. The scars stood out against Harry's pale skin exactly as he had wanted. They were a constant reminder of what kind of person he was. The reminder kept him sane. It was a disgusting, shameful habit he knew, but he would never give it up. He wasn't even sure if he would be able to if he tried. How wouldhe cope with everything going on without it?

Harry dropped his wand in his bag in exchange for the Potions knife he had found in the dormitory at the beginning of the school year. He didn't own knife had been destroyed in the fire and he hadn't bothered to replace it since he didn't take Potions anymore. Carefully, he set the cold blade against the first of seven horizontal scars. With a minimum of pressure the knife drew blood, reopening the scar. He did the same to the next one. Harry stopped after reopening the third one. He dropped the bloody knife in the sink and watched the warm blood run over his arm. It was crimson, just like that of everyone else. The pain made him feel alive. The greatest thing, however, was that he completely controlled it. He chose when he would cut his skin, when he would feel the pain, no one else. It made him feel calm and gave him some kind of relief.

For a moment he watched how the blood ran over his arm and then he grabbed his wand and transfigured a piece of parchment into a bandage. It wasn't easy to warp a bandage around your own arm, so it ended up clumsily wrapped, but Harry didn't care. Some complicated spell work made the bandages invisible and with another spell he hid away the scars. A last spell cleaned his knife and the sink. No one would ever know his secret. With that thought he left the bathroom, hurrying towards the Quidditch pitch for he was already running late for practice he was supposed to be running.

++

Practice was great. The morning rain had stopped and the sun occasionly peaked from behind its cloudy cover. Everyone flew well and Harry was happy with the new team members he had chosen. They would do well against Ravenclaw next Sunday if only Ron could keep his nerves under control. Harry leaned forward on his broom and started to gain speed. The thrill of flying drove all his worries go away. He felt as though nothing could ever go wrong again. He climbed and dove and climbed again. Just as he was about to dive again, he felt himself starting to get dizzy. This isn't good, he thought. Slowly he descended, hoping the dizziness would soon pass. When he reached the ground, he got off his broom to sit down on the grass. Why did he feel so dizzy? Was it from blood loss? No, that couldn't be... he had checked the cuts briefly when he put his Quidditch robes on but the bleeding had already stopped. If the bleeding was the cause of this he should have felt dizzy before, no? Or was it perhaps because he hadn't eaten today? Harry remembered that he sometimes felt dizzy during the summer when he had to do a lot of chores on very little food. Maybe it was a combination of both...

"Harry? Are you alright?"

Harry looked up. His team had and was watching him with worried looks on their faces.

"Just a little dizzy," muttered Harry.

"Can we get you anything?"asked Ginny.

"No I'll be fine," assured Harry. He took a deep breath and got on his feet. "I feel a lot better already." That was a lie. He still felt dizzy.

"Shall we continue training?" said Ron impatiently.

The other team members looked just as eager to continue as Ron but Harry figured it wouldn't be wise for him to climb on his broom again. "If you want you can fly a bit, but I'm done for today. We're losing the light anyway."

"I'm going to practice some more," said Ron and he looked at the other team members. They nodded in agreement.

"You're sure you’re alright?" asked Katie while she climbed back on her broom.

"Yeah, don't worry. Just a bit tired, that's all." He forced a smile on his face and then headed towards the dressing room. He couldn't blame the rest of the team for wanting to fly a bit longer even thought it was slowly getting dark. If he hadn't felt so dizzy he would probably still be up there in the sky as well. The advantage of leaving early was that he would be able to shower in private, without having to fear that someone would see his scars or how thin he was.

After a long, warm shower he made his way towards dinner. He was a little early and there was only a small number of students present in the Great Hall. None of them were Gryffindors. Sitting down at the end of the Gryffindor table, Harry grabbed his Defense Against the Dark Arts book out of his bag and began reading the chapter on non-verbal spell. Professor Lowens had asked them to read the chapter in preparation for the upcoming classes on the subject. He was half way done the second page, when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Reluctantly he turned around to face Malfoy. For once he wasn't accompanied by Crab and Goyle.

"Prince Potter, the Chosen One," sneered the blonde.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Nothing," answered Malfoy in a mock innocent voice. "I was just wondering how on earth a loser like you could kill the Dark Lord."

Harry bit his lip, trying his best to keep his temper in check. With just one sentence Malfoy had managed to bring all the thoughts and worries he had cut away earlier back.

"Potter is extraordinarily skillful in Defense and has managed to escape He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named four times already," quoted Malfoy. Apparently he knew the article that had been published in the Daily Prophet a few days after the fiasco at the Ministry by heart. Occasionally Malfoy would taunt Harry by reciting parts of it.

The article had not only given Malfoy dirt to throw at Harry but had made Harry very popular again. He was no longer the insane, attention seeking brat but a hero. More than once someone had asked Harry to sign something. The most absurd thing Harry had been asked to sign was a girl’s belly. While the fuss around the article had died down a lot, there was still a pack of girls who tried to follow Harry and fawn over him regularly.

"Sod off Malfoy," snapped Harry before turning around again to focus on his book.

Malfoy snickered. "Harry Potter feels himself too good to talk to a mere peer."

Harry heard him walk away and released the breath he hadn’t even realised that he had been holding. Malfoy was right though. How was he supposed to kill Voldemort? Was he capable of becoming a murderer? Harry swallowed. There was already blood on his hands. He was already a murderer. A wave of nausea hit him. His appetite was suddenly gone replaced by the urge to see the seven scars on his arm reopened. Just as Harry decided that he didn't want to eat dinner after all, Ron and Hermione sat down opposite of him.

"Are you feeling okay, Harry?" asked Hermione concerned.

"Great," mumbled Harry.

"Ron told me you were dizzy."

"I'm fine now, Hermione," assured Harry.

"Have you finished your Potions essay, Ron?" asked Hermione.

"Almost," replied Ron.

Harry was glad he didn't have Potions anymore, even thought if it meant that he would never be able to become an Auror. Not having to deal with Snape anymore more than made up for everything else. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to do with his life anyway. Once catching dark wizards had seemed like a really nice way to earn a living, but now it almost sounded comical. He had to murder one to be able to live at all. Ever since he had learned about the Prophecy he had lived from day to day waiting for that final confrontation. He didn't think much about his future beyond wondering how he was going to have to destroy someone who was so much stronger and more experienced than he was. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the appearance of the food. One look around the table he determined that he really wasn't hungry. When was the last time he had been hungry? He couldn't remember. It must have been last year...

"Here," said Hermione while she scooping some chips and a piece of fish onto his plate. “You should eat."

Harry sighed and nodded at Hermione. He started eating very slowly to avoid what surely would be annoying conversation with an overly worried Hermione. After a few bites of the fish and chips he actually felt a little better and his appetite returned. He gave his friends a small smile. Hermione looked relieved and Ron just smiled back between two mouthfuls of fish. It was on such moments as these that Harry remembered how much he loved his friends.